How to Fight the Pain
by Marni.246
Summary: This is a look at how a few of the main characters deal with Fred's death after Deathly Hallows. It's sad - I'm warning you now. All characters belong to JKR - crap - and the song is Placebo's version of Running Up That Hill. Enjoy!


**It doesn't hurt me**

**You wanna feel how it feels?**

**You wanna know, know that it doesn't hurt me?**

**You wanna hear about the deal I'm making?**

**You, you and me**

Ginny looked up as her door squeaked open. Harry stood there, looking at her with what she could only determine to be sympathy. She had one million and one things to say to him, but the first words that came from her mouth were, "You're in the girls' dormitory."

Harry raised an eyebrow at her, and she thought to herself, _Way to start the conversation, Gin. Of all the things to say to him_....

Harry said rather thickly, "I guess the castle is lax on its standards right now…the stairs let me up." He sat next to her on the bed. "I'm so sorry, Ginny."

Ginny jumped up and spun around to face him, her eyes blazing, "Why does everyone say that? 'I'm sorry you've lost someone you love'…honestly. Why are you saying it?"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but she cut across him, "No, don't tell me. Survivors' guilt, right? Well trust me, I have it too."

She stared down at him, knowing that she shouldn't be freaking out on him, but at the same time unable to stop herself – she needed an outlet, and Harry was providing the best type, whether he knew it or not.

After what felt like years, Harry finally spoke quietly, "Do you want to hear how he died?"

Ginny felt like someone had punched her in the stomach, "I already heard how."

"No, you didn't," Harry told her. "You never heard the most crucial part."

Ginny sat on the empty bed across from Harry and stared at him, tempted to tell him to sod off – she didn't want to hear it right now. As she met his gaze, however, her words changed. "Go on, then. You did want to tell me, didn't you? Why else would you bring it up?"

"He died laughing," Harry told her. Ginny sucked in a big gulp of air and waited for what he'd say next. Was he going to go into explicit details?...she didn't think she could handle it right now. "Do you know what that means? It means that he always looked for the bright side to everything – he always laughed and constantly tried to make others laugh as well. He died fighting for a cause he believed in, _and_ he died doing one of the things he did best – laughing."

Ginny didn't know how to respond, but was slightly ashamed when she let out an errant sob. She didn't know what to do anymore or how to feel. She was emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausted, and it all seemed too overwhelming to deal with right now. Against her better judgment, she burst into tears, unable to maintain her strong exterior. "I miss him so much!"

Through her watery vision, she saw Harry come over to her. He pulled her into a standing position and wrapped his arms around her. After a moment or two, she realized that he was whispering, "I love you, Gin" over and over in her ear. That, combined with the feel of his arms wrapped around her calmed her.

She wasn't sure how she was going to get through this. Of all her brothers, she was definitely closest to Ron, but right behind him were Fred and George. And now it was only George. "Oh Merlin," Ginny breathed. "Where's George?"

"He's somewhere in the castle," Harry answered. "He wanted to be alone."

"I feel so awful – I feel like I should be downstairs with the rest of my family."

"Do you think you could handle it right now?" Harry asked quietly.

Ginny thought about it for a moment. As much as she wanted to see the rest of her family, she couldn't stand the thought of seeing their grieving faces. She slowly shook her head, "No. Does that make me an awful person?"

"Of course not," Harry told her simply. "Everyone grieves in their own way."

Ginny leaned her forehead on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his waist, "Thank you for standing here with me, Harry."

Harry didn't reply, but simply squeezed her tighter to let her know that he heard.

**And if I only could**

**Make a deal with God**

**And get Him to swap our places**

Thousands of things to say continuously flew through Harry's mind, but none of them seemed right. He wanted so badly to take away all the bad things that had happened to the good people tonight – he was to blame for the deaths of so many.

Even for the deaths of people _before_ tonight. If he hadn't insisted that Cedric take hold of the cup with him then Cedric would have lived; if he hadn't had that dream about Sirius being attacked in the ministry, Sirius wouldn't have come to help him and wouldn't have died as a result; if he had only reacted faster, Dumbledore might be alive. And of course, if people hadn't been so concerned with his well-being, Hedwig and Moody would still be alive; if he hadn't foolishly said Voldemort's name, Hermione wouldn't have nearly died, and Dobby wouldn't have been killed by Bellatrix; if he had done something, he could have even saved Snape; if he had just gone to face Voldemort immediately, Tonks, Lupin, Fred, Colin, and numerous others might still be alive.

Harry tried to force the waterfall of thoughts out of his mind to make room for one: comfort Ginny. Without really thinking it through, Harry said the first thing that came to mind, "Sirius once told me – those who love us, never really leave us."

Ginny looked at Harry and fresh tears sprang to her eyes, "Where's Fred, then? If he hasn't left us."

"It doesn't mean literally, Gin," Harry told her quietly.

Ginny wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, "I know…I'm sorry, I'm just bitter and hurting right now, Harry."

Harry gave her a half smile, "Find solace anyway you can, Ginny. Take it out on me if you have to – just don't bottle it up. Bottled up feelings can destroy you, you know."

"I loved you since I first met you and I kept that nearly totally bottled up, so don't even bother trying to explain how horrible it is." Ginny sighed and sniffled. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be so harsh."

Harry shook his head and took her hands in his. Holding them both up, he kissed each of her hands, "I love you, Gin, and what I want most is to help you right now. If that means being your verbal punching bag for awhile, so be it."

Harry motioned for Ginny to sit, and she sat on her bed once again. He sat next to her and looked into her eyes, "I want nothing more right now than to take this pain away from you. I'd rather die than have anything horrible happen to you, Gin."

**Be running up that road**

**Be running up that hill**

**Be running up that building**

**If I only could**

As Ginny listened to his words and looked into his green eyes, she knew he spoke the truth. She also knew that he hadn't gotten much sleep the past few days. Ginny shifted on the bed and climbed behind Harry so that she could lay down on it.

He looked startled for a moment, and made to leave, but she called out to him. "Will you lay here with me?"

Harry smiled at her, "I was just about to switch off the light."

Ginny returned his smile, marveling over the fact that she could smile, and then watched as the room was plunged into darkness; the only light coming from the silvery moon outside. "Promise me something?"

She felt the bed depress slightly as Harry lay beside her. A moment later, she heard him say, "Anything."

"Don't leave me tonight," Ginny whispered, mentally kicking herself. She sounded so vulnerable and scared – totally not like her usual self.

A second later she felt Harry's fingers intertwine themselves with hers and she smiled to herself once again. "I promise." She closed her eyes, praying that sleep would come to her – after all, she'd need her strength to support her family tomorrow – and just as she was drifting off, Harry spoke again, "I won't ever leave you again. We'll get through this together, Gin, I promise that, too." And she believed him.

**You don't wanna hurt me**

**But see how deep the bullet lies**

**Unaware that I'm tearing you asunder**

**There's a thunder in our hearts, baby**

He needed somewhere away from everyone else; somewhere no one would look for him. After sitting with his family for what felt like a year and a half, George stood and began to walk, his destination unclear. The only thing he knew was that he needed a form of escape.

Before he knew it, he was in the hallway containing the Room of Requirement. George wasn't exactly sure what he wanted, but he felt that his need was great. With a determined frame of mind and his thoughts focused on Fred, he walked back and forth three times before the wall, and then watched silently as a door appeared.

He took a deep breath and opened the door, stepping in quickly and locking it behind him. When he turned to face the room, he started to cry again; the room was filled with things that reminded him of Fred. George closed his eyes and shook his head against the images and memories that plagued him. Just before the war, they had been discussing how to permanently stick an Extendable Ear on George.

He leaned against the wall and slowly slid down it, "This wasn't what I wanted."

Suddenly, he heard Fred's voice say, _Then why'd you think of me, you git?_

George buried his face in his hands, "That wasn't what I meant. I meant you leaving me, Fred."

_Do you think I wanted to? Besides, I'm not really gone._

"You're also not really here," George pointed out. _Just think of me as your voice of reason._

"That's not funny," George said. _Yeah, well, _Fred replied, laughing, _Neither was your 'holey' joke, so deal with it. Now get up and look around. I want to share some memories with you._

George took a few shaky breaths and forced himself to get up, drying his eyes while he did so. As he was closer to the left side of the room, he started at that corner. The first two items were Fred and George's toy brooms, both of which were leaning against the wall. George reached out and saw that his hand was shaking wildly. He ignored it and gently touched the handle of Fred's broom, tracing the gold letter F that was engraved in the broom.

_Remember trying to get Ron to try to fly on these?_ George couldn't help but grin – they really had been little hellions back then. "What about teaching Ginny how to fly?"

_Those were some fun days,_ Fred agreed. _Now move on to the next thing._

George walked to the next item and laughed out loud. It was the first thing they had ever tried to invent. It _should_ have converted stones into candy, but instead, when they put the first stone in it exploded, and pink sap somehow ended up covering the kitchen walls. Their Mum had not been pleased, to say the least. _Not our best idea, hmm?_

The next thing George came across was a folded up Quidditch uniform. His breath caught in his throat as he realized that it was Fred's. He looked at the robes and couldn't help but smile. _Some of the best times of my life were spent with you on our brooms out on the Quidditch field. I still remember the bruise you gave Bole after he hit Alicia – well done._

George grinned, "Well what about the time in our fifth year when you just about killed Flint trying to avenge Angelina?" _Oh, Angelina….We'll talk about her later, however. I want to see your reaction to the next item. _

George frowned, merely seeing a puddle on the floor in front of him with a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes sign next to it. After a moment, the memory came back to him, "Is this a part of the infamous puddle?" In his mind's eye he could see Fred grinning as he said, _It sure is. Back by popular demand, of course. Flitwick never did remove all of it, and I have a feeling he won't. Now, the next item is the last one, George._

With a deep breath, he turned and faced the last item in the room. It was a picture of only the twins at Bill and Fleur's wedding, one arm slung around the other, each smiling and laughing. George instantly began to cry and his legs gave out. With a slightly strangled noise he collapsed to the ground. In his mind, it sounded as though Fred was crying, too. _It breaks my heart to see you like this._

"It's not fair – you were talking about your own wedding that day." George cried out. _Well, plans don't always go as we originally wanted, brother. _

"I can't do this," George admitted, the tears pouring freely. "Fred, I can't even think of how I'm possibly going to get through your funeral alone."

_You don't have to be alone. You have our family and friends. _Fred's voice told him. _And besides, you have me. I'll be with you forever._

**There's so much hate for the ones we love?**

**Tell me, we both matter, don't we?**

**You, you and me**

**You and me, won't be unhappy**

Ron sat in front of the Gryffindor common room fire staring silently at the flames, wishing he could take back what happened. It had been nearly thirty hours since Voldemort had been defeated and the good side had triumphed, and the gaping hole in his family where Fred had been continued to grow larger. With every passing moment, the finality of it all became more and more apparent.

After spending a solid twenty-four hours mourning with his family, Ron had snuck away to the common room to gain some peace and silence. He couldn't take the tears, sorrow and regret any longer. His older brother was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it. Once again, he could only watch as the ones he loved were pulled into a state of grief and heartache.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ron caught a glimpse of bushy brown hair. He tilted his head a little to the side, enabling himself to see more of Hermione as she looked over towards the fire. He heard her slight gasp and saw her come to an abrupt stop. She hesitated and turned slightly, almost as if she was going to leave, but at the last minute decided not to.

"Are you going to avoid me?" Ron asked, his voice hoarse.

He looked deeper into the fire, and as a result lost sight of her. It didn't matter, though. He always seemed to know when she was in the room. He _felt_ more than heard her approach him. "No," Hermione answered quietly.

Silence fell, but Ron found that it wasn't an uncomfortable one. He needed to grieve, yes, but he also needed help to get through this. He knew he would never forget what happened, and he didn't want to, but he also recognized his need to be able to live again.

Hermione finally broke the silence, "I know how–"

Ron cut her off and looked at her, "No, you don't know. You've never lost a sibling, Hermione," Ron exploded. In his mind, he immediately thought, _Don't do this_. To his surprise, Hermione stayed silent, although reflecting on it later, Ron realized he didn't give her much choice. He stormily continued, "I have to deal with this! I have to support my family and I just don't know how. I don't know the proper things to say, or what to do, and most importantly, what _not_ to say. I don't need people telling me they know how I feel."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he put his head in his hands and felt like crying. _That's it,_ he thought miserably, _she's sure to leave now_. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't take back the words he said. A minute or so passed before Ron finally raised his head. To his surprise, she was still standing there. "Why haven't you left?"

Ron realized that this probably sounded really rude, but he couldn't fix it right now. He could mend her heart later, if it was still broken. He expected her to rage and rant at him, but instead she sat beside him on the couch and carefully reached out to him.

"You didn't let me finish," she reminded gently, taking his hand in hers. "What I was going to say was I know how much you're hurting, but I want you to know that I'm here when you need me."

If Ron had felt like a prat before, it was nothing to how he felt now. He should have realized that Hermione wouldn't have said such a careless thing. She almost always put thought before her actions. Ron tenderly squeezed her hand and looked into her wonderful brown eyes. "Hermione, I know my words were harsh, and I'm sorry that I instantly thought that you were trying to say that you knew what I felt."

Hermione nodded slowly, "I wouldn't say that because I definitely don't know exactly how you feel."

"I'm really not strong," Ron whispered as he absent-mindedly ran his thumb over her palm. "I need your strength to get me through this. I've hurt you so much in the past, and I know that I definitely don't deserve you, but that's just too bad, because I love you. You are the only person that I want to be with right now, Hermione. Will you stay with me?"

**If I only could**

**Make a deal with God**

**And get Him to swap our places**

Hermione didn't feel that words were needed after his question. Hermione looked at him cautiously and leaned in. She gently leaned her forehead against his and they both closed their eyes. Hermione took in the moment as it was; the warmth and crackling of the fire logs, the lack of chaos and the total serenity, and the fact that she was inches away from the one she loved most all added to the general feeling.

She opened her eyes and slowly moved her head so that their lips touched for the briefest of seconds. She wasn't sure if he wanted this, and so she pulled back slightly. She would give nearly anything to take the pain from him and make it her own just to ease his burden and see his lop-sided grin again.

She didn't say anything as he opened his blue eyes and looked at her. After a moment of just looking at her, he slid his hand to the back of her neck and lightly pulled her lips to his. The moment their lips met, Hermione felt as though all the grief, anger, heartache, longing and love from the past seven years was poured into the kiss.

It was earth-shattering for her, and when he finally pulled back, Hermione felt like crying for him all over again. Instead, she noticed that he was crying.

He leaned back against the couch and Hermione leaned back too, so that their shoulders were touching. She knew she needed to be strong for him, she needed to find the right words to say, but for awhile her mind blanked.

After a few minutes, she finally thought of something to say, and quoted Shakespeare, "'Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.'"

Ron looked at her with a slight frown, "What exactly does that mean?"

"Well, it basically means that you shouldn't bottle your grief." Hermione took a steadying breath and then reached out and took his hand in hers once more, "I'm here for you because I love you, too. Whether you want to talk right now or not, I'm here for you either way. I can listen while you speak, or I can share your silence with you."

Ron considered her words for a moment. After what felt like an eternity, he whispered, "I need you to stay with me. I don't want to talk about it, but I don't want to be alone. I think I'm scared to be."

Hermione felt tears brim in her eyes at his words, but forced them to stay put. He needed her right now, and she needed to be strong for him.

**Be running up that road**

**Be running up that hill**

**Be running up that building**

**If I only could**

Ron was more relived than he'd ever be able to say that she wanted to stay with him. He couldn't face his family right now – it was too awful to look at them and see the heartache etched plainly on their faces. He would rather be sitting where he was, completely alone except for Hermione.

He looked at her and noticed a gleam in her eyes that definitely wasn't from happiness. With a slight surge of guilt, he realized that she probably needed to cry too. He squeezed her hand and said gently, "You know, Hermione…a very smart witch told me that it's not good to bottle your grief. Let it out, love – it's only me."

Upon hearing his words, it was as though a small dam had burst. Suddenly, Hermione had tears streaming down her face. He reached out and gently dried some of her tears away, feeling tears well up in his own eyes. When they both finally stopped crying, Hermione pulled her legs up on the couch and scooted closer to him; her head was now on his shoulder, and her bent knees were resting lightly on his lap. Ron put an arm around her and leaned his head on top of hers. As he sat with her, a sort of calm feeling washed over him and he whispered, "There is nothing that love cannot face…."

**Come on, baby, come on, come on, darling**

**Let me steal this moment from you now**

**Come on, angel, come on, come on, darling**

**Let's exchange the experience**

Angelina sat next to the rain-splattered window in her favorite armchair. Each arm rested limply on the arms of the chair as she watched the puddles deepen with each passing moment. It had been a few days since the burial, and she still couldn't find the energy to even eat, let alone do anything else.

Using the smallest amount of energy, Angelina lifted up her left hand and looked at the glistening ring on her ring finger. It was a promise ring, and he had given it to her just a month ago. It symbolized his promise to marry her one day.

She choked on a sudden sob and brought her hand to her mouth to stifle the noise. Angelina glanced at the couch where her mother lay sleeping. Her mum hadn't wanted to leave her since it happened, but she was absolutely exhausted. Angelina had Apparated home almost right after the battle happened – she was grieving far too much to be near his family.

"His family," she whispered. What heartache they must be going through! Angelina turned her gaze to the window again, mentally sending out thoughts of warmth and love to them. _Come on, Angie, you weren't a Gryffindor for nothing_.

Angelina blinked and looked around the room quickly. "Fred?" she whispered, longing for him to somehow magically be alive. Upon seeing no one other than her sleeping mum, she took a shaky breath and said, "Come on, Ange, get a grip. You were at his fu…."

She couldn't even complete the thought, but as soon as she thought about it, one particular part came back to her…

_George stood up and walked to the podium slowly, almost as if in a trance. His eyes never once darted to the closed casket, although Angelina knew it must be a similar feeling to having your heart ripped out. When he spoke his voice was hoarse, "I can't talk to you for long – I don't think I'd get through it. But it was Fred's wish as a thirteen-year-old that if he were to d…die, that I would read this short poem at his funeral. '_Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn's rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uplifting rush... Of soaring birds in circled flight, I am the star that shines at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there, I did not die._' _

_Angelina recognized it as Mary Frye's poem, and couldn't help the tears that poured down her face. She had been there in third year when Fred had casually handed George a slip of paper, and with a smile said, "Hey, read that at my funeral, will you?" She watched George, her heart breaking with each passing moment, as he finally looked at the casket. He stood there for a few moments, looking as though he didn't know what to do, and finally set the piece of paper on Fred's casket. She cried even harder to see that it was the same paper Fred had originally written on._

Angelina came back to the present, sobbing so hard that she thought her lungs might collapse. Her mum woke up, of course, and hugged her. Her mum didn't say anything, and for that she was grateful.

She returned the hug, feeling angry all of a sudden. He had had so much to live for – he was so young! And now? He had joined numerous others whose lives could have been spared. With one last racking sob, she started to calm herself down, thanking her mother. She took a step back, drying her eyes, "I'm going to go to the Weasleys', Mum."

Angelina thought her mum was going to protest, and was surprised when she didn't. In fact, she handed the Floo powder to Angelina. "I love you," her mum added as Angelina moved into the fireplace.

"I love you, too."

**And if I only could**

**Make a deal with God**

**And get Him to swap our places**

Green flames shot up in the Weasleys' fireplace, and Angelina coughed from the soot. After brushing herself off a bit, she stepped out cautiously, and called out for someone. A muffled voice came from the sitting room.

Angelina walked in and saw Mr. Weasley sitting on the couch, a picture frame in his hands. Swallowing thickly, she said, "Hello, Mr. Weasley."

Arthur Weasley looked up and smiled wearily at her. Quite a few hairs of his had now gone gray, and Angelina wondered if that was due to the battle or losing Fred. _Aren't those two sort of linked?_ She thought to herself after. Mr. Weasley's faint, "Hello, Angelina," drew her back to the present and she bit her lip.

Why had she come? It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now…she wasn't so sure. _Because you need someone to grieve with, too_. A voice that sounded oddly like Fred's answered her. Angelina motioned to a spot on the couch next to him, "May I sit? I'm a bit dirty from the fireplace."

Arthur made a welcoming gesture with his hand, "Don't worry about that – when Molly can get out of bed, she goes through mass cleaning episodes, anyway."

Angelina sat and though she tried not to, she couldn't help but glance at the photo album. Currently showing were two photographs; the first was taken when Fred and George were about four, and each boy was holding a toy broomstick. Angelina wasn't sure if Mr. Weasley was talking to himself or her, but he said suddenly, "They always loved to fly. Always. This was taken shortly after they got them. George thought it would be fun to try and convince two-year-old Ron to go on it. He broke his arm and nearly his neck." Arthur seemed as though he was going to smile for a moment, but instead continued on, "They loved family, pranks, friends…." He drifted off suddenly and she met his eyes.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Weasley." She watched in horror as fresh tears sprang to his eyes.

"So am I," he whispered, reaching out a hand and lightly touching the broomstick photograph. She looked at the other photograph and felt her heart wrench. It was in their third year, and it was a picture of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

"Fred," Angelina said, so quietly that she barely said his name aloud.

Mr. Weasley had apparently heard her, because he looked at her and said, "He really loved you. He didn't think anyone but George, Ron, and Ginny knew, but as parents, you tend to develop a knack of knowing your children."

At any other time, Angelina would have smiled at his words. At the moment, it only made her want to cry even more. "Mr. Weasley, I'm sorry but there's some place I've got to go."

Arthur nodded and as she stood up, added, "If you see George, tell him we love him please." Angelina did nothing more than nod and wave as she Apparated.

**Be running up that road**

**Be running up that hill**

**With no problems**

She arrived at her destination less than three seconds later, and began the familiar walk to the grounds of Hogwarts. In tribute to the fallen, the current Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, gave express permission for those who so chose to bury their family members in the newly constructed cemetery, closer to the forest than the school. It was here that Fred had been buried, after George suggested that for the past several years it had been their second home, as well as the breeding ground for their numerous pranks and jokes.

Angelina shivered, even though it was lovely weather. Turning her face up to the sky, she saw that there didn't seem to be a single cloud here – odd that it had been raining at her home. _You'd likely get a kick out of a sunny, morbid day_, Angelina thought.

All too soon she arrived at Hogwarts, and soon after that, she stumbled across the cemetery. It didn't take her long to find his grave, and she knelt in front of it, reaching a hand out. The grass wouldn't grow in for a long time, and Angelina gave a sob at the thought. Would it seem even more final once it had grown?

"Fred, I miss you," Angelina said quietly, reading his tombstone for what had to be the thousandth time. 'Fred Weasley, born: April 1st, 1978, died: May 2nd, 1998. Laugh as much as you breathe; love as long as you live.' With one last sharp intake of breath, Angelina sat back on her heels, buried her face in her hands, and cried.

**And if I only could**

**Make a deal with God**

**And get Him to swap our places**

"What will I do without you?" George asked miserably, for what was likely the hundredth time in the past week. _I haven't yet been buried a week and you're already a mess – this is worse than I thought, Forge._

"Oh, shut it, Gred" George snapped angrily. He instantly regretted his words, and rubbed a hand over his eyes, "You're talking to yourself, George."

_No, _now_ you're talking to yourself_. Fred told him, sounding rather cheery, all things considered. Tears sprang to George's eyes. Himself. That was all he'd ever be anymore. No one to finish his sentences, or plan the pranks with…if it wasn't for Ron offering to help, George might have closed Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

_What?!_ Fred's voice nearly shrieked, _you can't close our store!_

"Don't get your knickers in a knot. I've changed my mind about all that." George told Fred quickly. He took a deep breath and looked around, trying to remember where he even was anymore. _You lived here all your life, yet you don't know that you're sitting against the Willow tree facing away from the Burrow? Tsk tsk, brother._

George stood up and looked around; sure enough, he was still at the Burrow, standing next to the giant Willow tree in their backyard. Noise was coming from the kitchen, which meant that his Mum was out of bed today and on a cleaning mission – it seemed like she got out of bed less and less lately.

As he began to slowly walk back to the Burrow, he changed his mind and Apparated in, landing just outside their old bedroom door. With a sharp breath, George reached his shaking hand out and turned the knob, pushing the door open slowly.

He glanced around, trying not to choke on the sobs that were now issuing from him. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, hoping to gain some sort of comfort. _From a door? Highly unlikely_.

George swallowed thickly and closed his eyes briefly. In his mind's eye, he watched a memory of the two of them as boys….

_"Well, he deserves it." Fred agreed with a nod. They opened their door and tiptoed downstairs, careful not to alert their mother to their presence. Of course, she would know what was up in a matter of minutes._

_George pointed ahead and smiled devilishly. Ron sat on the living room floor, holding his teddy bear and playing with a few toys. Their dad sat napping on the couch, and it was his wand that the twins borrowed. Already having heard the spell performed before, Fred swished the wand and said the spell – seconds later, Ron was holding a giant, hairy spider. He promptly screamed and burst into tears, and the twins were punished heavily for their attempt at payback._

George opened his eyes and smiled slightly – that was one of their crueler pranks, to be sure. Ron was still terrified of spiders to this day. _Keep in mind he braved them for Hermione. He's braver than he gives himself credit for. _Almost as an after-thought, Fred's voice added, _After all, he's agreed to work with _you_ in the store._

George rolled his eyes, "Low blow." After hearing Fred's trademark laughter, he looked around the room, starting with the bunk bed. George wasn't sure if it was three or four times that they had pushed Percy from it, telling him that he would be able to fly. Fred laughed again, _Honestly, you'd think _we_ were the older brothers back then_.

His eyes moved from their beds to Fred's trunk near the closet. Kneeling in front of it, he pulled out his wand and whispered Alohomora, successfully unlocking the trunk. As he pushed the lid open, he choked on his tears. On top of the pile were Fred's Quidditch robes – he took a moment to try to figure out how they had gotten back here, but gave up soon after – followed by three letters from Angelina, and notes on some of their Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products. Further down were a few books – though all on Quidditch or pranks – and a photo album. George couldn't bear to look anymore, and so he replaced everything and locked the trunk.

_Coward_. George stopped halfway to a stand. Was that him or Fred that said that?

_Wasn't me – I'd have called you a git._

George shuddered and took a deep breath, drying his eyes. With one last bit of courage (_You _were _a Gryffindor, after all!)_ he opened the bedroom door and made his way downstairs. He didn't have the heart to Apparate down to the living room.

He came to a sudden stop in the living room – his dad was sitting on the settee, looking at a photo album. "Err–"

His dad glanced up, "George…come on in. We didn't know where you'd gone."

"Out back," George answered with a wave of his hand.

"Angelina was here, and she was really upset. I know you probably don't want to, but could you maybe talk to her?" Arthur replied, frowning, "I'm rather worried."

George nodded and said farewell to his dad. "George!" his father called out.

"Yes, Dad?" George spun on his heel.

"I love you," Arthur Weasley said with a slight smile. "I never told you two enough. But I love you both so much, and I'm very, very proud to be your father."

George's eyes began to water as he replied weakly, "I love you, too, Dad. See you 'round." Not even Fred had anything to say in reply to that random display of emotion.

**Be running up that road**

**Be running up that hill**

**With no problems**

As George left the Burrow, he started to walk down the drive, not knowing where Angelina could be. Could he even stand to see her so upset right now? _Don't be a git – you know where she is. She needs comfort just as much as you._ Fred's voice set off a bell. George did know where she would be – the same place that he had been avoiding all week. With a shaky breath, he Apparated to Hogsmeade, and walked down to Hogwarts.

Time had never seemed to pass as quickly as it did on that walk. All of a sudden, George found himself where he didn't want to be – standing five feet away from his twin's grave, watching Angelina cry into her hands. He walked around to where she knelt, and gently placed his hands on her shoulders, "Hey, Angie."

She stopped crying long enough to stand up and look at him, but when she saw who it was, she promptly burst into tears again. George wrapped his arms around her and for a long while, they simply stood there, crying together. _Take care of her, will you?_

George began to cry harder as he silently answered 'I will'. _Brilliant. I hate to see both of you so sad. Read my grave once more, brother. _As George began to silently read Fred's name, he heard Fred's disgruntled voice say, _Not the boring stuff! Skip to the quote_.

George looked at the quote, and read aloud, "Laugh as much as you breathe; love as long as you live." _Suits me, doesn't it?_

George shuddered, and found that his tears seemed to be abating. He realized that Angelina had stopped crying, and took a step back, looking down at her. "He would have wanted us to stop moping around and get on with our lives." _Well put! _Fred applauded him. "We'll get through it together, Angie." George held out his hand, and Angelina finally smiled slightly, placing her hand in his.

**If I only could**

**Be running up that hill**

**If I only could**

**Be running up that hill**

Fred grinned as he watched the goings-on below him. He wasn't actually talking to George, but their special twin bond had decided to work wonders even after his death. Dumbledore hadn't been able to explain it all, but as he said, his guesses were often accurate enough to be fact anyway, and so Fred trusted him. Dumbledore had theorized that because Fred and George had had such a strong connection, George could still hear what Fred would have said if he had been able to say it to him. Fred wondered absently if George would hear his voice for the rest of his life, like Dumbledore figured he would.

He heard laughter behind him and glanced back to see Sirius, James, and Lupin in discussion. The three recently reunited Marauders were sharing exciting stories that had happened since they had last seen each other alive. A little ways to their left, Lily, Cedric Diggory, and Tonks were watching an intense Wizard's chess match between Mad-Eye Moody and Dumbledore. Close by them, Dobby – who was wearing what looked like one of Hermione's old S.P.E.W. hats – and Colin Creevey were petting an irate Hedwig, who then flew wildly about, hooting loudly.

Fred glanced around him completely, and though he longed to, he couldn't possibly choose one distinct description for where they all were. He had a feeling that Dumbledore's theory about this place was right; that it was different to everyone. For Fred, it was the grounds of Hogwarts, with the Burrow in the distance. Even though none of that made sense – especially since he could shift the actual places below him and watch things that went on in both Hogwarts and the Burrow – he knew that Dumbledore's theory must have been at least partially correct.

As he continued to look around, his eyes stopped on a lone figure, standing far away from the others and looking down at something going on below him. Glancing back at the merriment around him, Fred took his courage in hand and walked over to the man dressed all in black. "Err – Professor Snape, mind if I join you?"

Snape glanced at him and raised his eyebrows, "Professor hardly seems accurate now, does it?"

Fred shrugged, "I suppose – not sure what else to call you, though." He looked down and saw with slight surprise that Snape was watching everyone at the Burrow. Fred could see his dad sitting on the couch where George had recently left him, and his mother cleaning the already spotless kitchen. Harry and Ginny were in Ginny's room talking, and Ron and Hermione were nowhere to be seen. It was just a guess, but Fred had a feeling that Snape was watching Harry.

When he transferred his idea into words, Snape's black eyes met his once again. "What do you mean?" He snapped.

Fred grinned, "You actually like him, don't you? As much as you continuously denied it and all that, deep down you liked him. It was Lily's eyes that caused you to, wasn't it? Don't lie – I was there watching the end of the battle, same as you."

Snape's gaze drifted to where Lily Potter was standing and he watched her for a few seconds in silence. "I hardly feel the wish to discuss this with you, Mr. Weasley," Snape replied finally in his common tone, shifting the scene below them to the Hogwarts grounds. With a curt nod, Snape walked away from Fred, and Fred felt as though he had just received 1, 000 Galleons. Finding out what made Snape tick wasn't nearly as hard as he thought it would have been – most of his actions had been out of love and regret.

Fred looked down again and spotted George walking towards his grave and Angelina. Fred brought the scene closer to him – sort of like 'zooming in' on one of his dad's Muggle cameras – and concentrated. When he tried hard enough, he could hear their conversation.

Fred listened, conjuring up a chair for himself in the process. Below him, George and Angelina were both crying, and George was attempting to comfort them both. "Oh George," Fred said quietly. The last thing he wanted was for his twin to be so upset and heartbroken. If he could, he would take away his twin's pain. "But you can't," he reminded himself, "You're dead now."

Fred's smile disappeared and he felt a single tear slip down his cheek. All the things he had wanted to do and see in his lifetime – all his chances were gone. He had died so young – he was barely twenty. Although when he thought about it, others were around his age, too – James and Lily had died when they were twenty-one, Cedric was eighteen, and Colin was only sixteen.

Trying to get rid of the morbid thoughts plaguing his mind, he looked at the scene below in time to see Angelina smile slightly. He wished that she would smile properly so that he could see it again. He really regretted not being able to spend the rest of his life as her husband – that was something he'd always wanted.

If it was in his power to do so, he would have instantly taken away all the grief and sorrow from them. He would give anything to be able to do that, aside from swapping places with them. As awful as it sounded, it was better him than them.

Fred spent the next few minutes having purely morbid, depressing thoughts. He would never attend any of his siblings' (other than Bill, of course) weddings. He'd never be there to plan George's bachelor party, or be the best man at his wedding. He'd never get to see Ginny be walked down the aisle, and he'd never get to cry his eyes out at her wedding simply because she was his little sister. He'd never be there to congratulate Ron for _finally _telling Hermione how he felt, or watch him become a father. He'd never get to tell Charlie and Bill how much he loved them, or tell Percy that he didn't hate him like Percy thought he did. He'd also never get to tell his Mum and Dad that he loved them more than they knew, or that he wouldn't want any other parents than them. He would also never get to marry Angelina, or have children with her, or tell her that he loved her again.

The tears coursed freely down his cheeks now, and for a few minutes, he let them flow unabated. Crying was sometimes just as healing as laughter, and in this case he needed both. He eventually dried his eyes and smiled just after doing so. Upon reflection, he decided that he had lived a good life – he had laughed, loved, and cherished every moment possible.

He could also be proud of the way he died. Not only had he died laughing, but he had died fighting for a cause he believed in – how wicked was that? With one last look below him, he saw George and Angelina head back towards Hogsmeade and smiled. He knew without a doubt that everyone would be fine eventually, and that they would all remember to live again soon. He wanted them to; moving on with their lives did not mean that they had to forget him.

Fred smiled even more broadly at that realization, and then walked closer to the others, noticing that Snape had even moved over and was now quietly observing at a much closer spot than he previously had been. Lily looked up at him as he approached, "Are you alright?"

Fred nodded, "Yeah, actually." Lily hugged him and he returned the hug. "It's been a pleasure to meet you – just a shame that it wasn't under better circumstances."

Lily smiled at him, and Fred felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he saw that the hand belonged to Lupin, "Come over here a moment, will you?" Fred nodded and followed him to where James and Sirius were sitting. He could see that they had conjured a complete map of Hogwarts, and he grinned in response to it. "We're thinking of having some fun," Lupin told him with a wink.

"Are we allowed to interact and communicate in any way?" Fred asked, thoroughly intrigued.

James and Sirius both grinned, as James replied, "We're just as eager to find that out. We haven't yet worked out everything in this place, but if there's a way, we'll discover it. We'll employ the help of Peeves. Are you in?"

Fred smiled at the three men as he nodded his acquiescence. Perhaps death really wasn't all bad after all.

A/N: I had a very hard time accepting most of the deaths that JKR wrote, and so I decided to write this for my own sanity and closure. To me, one of the worst deaths is Fred's, because he had so much left to live for. Like Lily and James, his life had barely even started…the only difference is that he didn't even get to experience as much as they did. I first heard the song _Running Up That Hill_ (Placebo's version) on an episode of The O.C. It was used in an episode shortly after one of the characters' deaths, and it sounded so hauntingly beautiful. I also used Mary Frye's poem, and one of Ron's lines ("There is nothing that love cannot face.") was an anonymous quote I found online. Fred's gravestone quote was also an anonymous quote.

I needed to write this and have others read it in order to finally accept that these characters died. They were all so amazing, and none of them should have died as young as they were (even Dumbledore). In closing, I hope that you have enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I cried while writing most of it – absolutely bawled during George's parts – but some parts I had to laugh at. I hope that you can connect with and appreciate all the emotion. Thank you so much for reading!


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